Family Man
by Xanderlike
Summary: When he nearly dies saving Artemis from a super villain, Lawrence Crock gives away his greatest secret: he loves his family. Can an unreformed super villain father and a super heroine daughter find a way to be a family again? Can a broken family fix itself or is there no such thing as a second chance?
1. Chapter 1

I'm getting too old for this.

I'm sitting in some no-name bar out in the middle of nowhere drinking sour beer and eating a hamburger that's way too greasy. Yeah, that's the glamorous life of a super villain for you—bad food, bad beer, and a flea bitten hotel when I'm done here.

I'm looking at a picture of my family.

I'm looking at my girls.

Artemis was little more than a toddler. Jade was about five or six. Their mother could still walk and I was doing my best to pretend that it wasn't all falling apart. We were at some cheap tourist trap of an amusement park. Jade is squirming on her mother's lap, already wanting to be free. Artemis—her face half covered with cotton candy—is hugging my neck and laughing like she's never gonna stop.

It's all I have left.

Years of The Life. More broken bones than you can shake a stick at. About half my teeth are fake and I can barely get out of bed in the morning 'cause I hurt so bad.

And the only thing I have to show for it is an old picture of people who don't give a damn about me anymore.

I finish the lousy beer and order another one. I'm not nearly as drunk as I want to be yet, but I'm doing my best to fix that. I'm about halfway through my third beer when I hear a snatch of conversation.

" …. Dungeon Master says he's going to make a fortune from this bimbo."

Some stupid kid. The bar's safe for people like me because about half of the patrons are in The Life … or want to be. That kid won't last long with a mouth like that on him.

"He's really got a super hero?"

"Yeah. Some archer chick. He says he's going broadcast what we do to her—we're all supposed to get a turn at her. The whole damn crew …"

Some archer chick …

I slam the mug down so hard it shatters and grab a piece of the broken glass and run over to the Mouth and slam his face down on the bar twice. I yank him up by his greasy hair and hold the glass against his scrawny throat. "Where?"

He's not stupid enough to lie.

The Bouncer worked with me a few times in the past so he doesn't say anything as I knock the Mouth out. He nods as I run out and yank out my cell phone, placing a call to the Justice League's help desk. Their voice analysis equipment will know it's me and they should scramble a team as soon as they run a scan but I don't have time to wait for them.

I'm on my bike, cursing at how badly my hands are shaking as I roar off into the night.

This so-called Dungeon Master is a new punk. A rich kid. He's kidnapped a few minor celebrities and filmed what he did to them. Sick twisted little brat.

And now he's got her. He's got Artemis.

He's got my little girl.

But not for long.

I'm smarter than this. I should plan. I should get my equipment together. I should suit up.

But I can't. He's got my little girl.

He's got my baby.

I can't think. I can barely breathe. The only thing that matters to me right now is getting to her before he can hurt her. About saving her.

The Dungeon is some low rent warehouse near the bar. He's got probably fifty men guarding the place. Armed to the teeth.

Ten years ago—hell, _five_—I would have gone through them like paper Mache. _All _of them.

Now … now I'm older, slower, more beaten down. It's a bad idea.

I go through them anyway.

I'm bloody when I'm done—some of it's mine, most of its theirs.

I'm going to feel it in the morning … if I live.

But my little girl needs me.

So I go on, getting slower with every new fight, bleeding a bit more with every take down. By the time I find her … by the time I beat the location of her cell out of the last punk, I'm sure I've broken something and I'm stumbling like a drunk on a three day bender.

The Dungeon Master is in her cell when I get there. He's got her strung up like a slab off beef. He's torn her jacket open and he's touching her.

Touching. My. Daughter.

I roar.

The Dungeon Master is wearing some kind of powered armor, an exoskeleton that makes him look bigger than he really is. He's a fat little man in a big suit and he thinks that makes him tough.

I teach him what tough is.

When I'm done, I cut Artemis down and anxiously feel for her pulse.

She's alive.

I thank the God I didn't know I still believed in that she's alive and I hug her tightly to me.

And that's when the Dungeon Master crawls out of the wreckage of his armor and stabs me in the side with a shiv.

I coldcock him, but the damage is done.

I'm bleeding out. Even leaving the shiv in, I'm bleeding out.

Doesn't matter.

I just have to live long enough to get Artemis out of here.

I wrap the rags of my shirt over her and lurch to my feet.

"Daddy?"

She's drugged. She's barely awake. She wouldn't call me "Daddy" if she weren't.

"I'm here, baby. You're fine. You're okay. You're just dreaming. You'll wake up and everything'll be okay."

I'm dying on my feet.

I can barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone carry her.

But I have to. Dammit, I have to!

Somehow, I make it outside.

It's dark. It's dark and I'm cold.

And there's the Justice League in front of me.

The kid is with them. The boy. Artemis' boy. She doesn't know that I know about him—her mom and I still talk. She doesn't know that.

She doesn't know I love her.

The kid is wearing that ridiculous costume of his and I'm expecting him to make some kind of flippant remark to me. I'm expecting them all to threaten me, to tell me how I'm going to rot in jail.

The Bat steps forward and looks at Artemis and he looks at me. "Crock, you need medical attention. Now. Give her to me."

"No."

She's my daughter. My baby. The only thing I have left. And if I'm going to die, I'm going to die holding her.

"Mr. Crock." It's the kid. He holds his arms out to me. "I'll take care of her. Please, sir. She needs our help. And so do you."

I fall to my knees, but I don't drop her.

"Just take her." It's the Arrow who says that.

"No." I'm surprised the Bat says that. "Crock, Artemis is safe. She's going to live. But you have to live too. How do you think she'll feel if you die now?"

She's my baby.

But I lost her a long time ago.

I let the kid take her from me. He wraps her arms around her and holds her like he'll keep her safe forever.

I reach out to touch her cheek, but my fingers are bloody and I won't stain her with any more blood.

It's over.

Artemis is safe.

"Artemis …"

And I let the darkness take me.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm restringing my crossbow when I get the call from the League that Artemis has been found. I knew who had her—knew what he did to young women—and I knew—wheelchair or no—I would _destroy _him. "You found her?"

"Not exactly." It's Batman. I'd recognize that dry voice anywhere. "Her father did."

"_Lawrence?"_ There is very little that can surprise me, but _this_ does. "Has she been … _harmed_?"

"No. He got there in time. Paula." I cannot remember the last time he called me by my given name. "Paula, he's been hurt."

"Hurt?" My Lawrence? "How badly?"

"You should get here soon. Kid Flash said he'd pick you up. We'll have another chair waiting for you at the hospital."

"Thank you, Batman."

There's a knock at the door. "Mrs. Crock?" The voice is young—so _terribly _young. I forget how young he is—how young they _all_ are.

"I'm coming, Kid Flash." I almost say _Wally_ but I don't. There's no telling who might be listening. I've met the boy a few times—I knew there was something between them when Artemis could not stop telling me how _irritating_ he was.

He smiles at me when I open the door. "Artemis is fine. There are still some drugs in her system—she'll probably be out for a few more hours—but's she fine. I was so afraid—" He starts to shake.

I lay my hand on his shoulder. "As you said, she's fine. I would like to see her now. And her father."

"Yeah. Right. Sportsmaster." He bends down to pick me up. "Batman told you we have a chair waiting for you?"

"Yes. Are you sure you can carry me that far? I'm heavier than I look." Not that it's fat, mind you. I may have been away from The Life for years, but I have maintained my training as much as possible. Sometimes I even go into dangerous neighborhoods just for the fun of taking down a few muggers.

"That's okay, Mrs. Crock. I'm stronger than _I_ look." He gives me a reckless, cocky grin, and I can see why my daughter loves him so.

The boy picks me up, and we're at the hospital in what seems like a blink of an eye.

Batman is waiting for me with a wheelchair that looks almost identical to my own.

"Paula."

"Batman." There's a curious kind of respect between us. I had fought him more than once in my younger days—not by choice, mind you. Lawrence might enjoy that kind of challenge, but I was always happier when he was not around. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you on the way to his room."

That's a bad sign.

Batman doesn't offer to push my wheelchair—he knows that I wouldn't like that. He tells me about the phone call that Lawrence made to the Justice League. He tells me about the chaos that Lawrence had left in his wake. He tells me of the wounds he had taken … he tells me of the man who had attempted to ravage my daughter and nearly killed my husband.

"This Dungeon Master. Where is he?"

"No, Paula." There was something almost like kindness in his voice. "Artemis can't afford to have you be put away—not now."

I say nothing more on the subject. I've not been away from The Life so long that I can't find out where they are hiding that man. When the time comes, he will learn what it means to harm my family.

Doctor Mid-Nite and Mister Terrific are in Lawrence's room when I arrive. They are speaking in low, hushed tones. "Mrs. Crock."

"Will he live?"

I'm surprised at how hard it is for me to say these words. I was calmer when I asked the doctors if I would ever walk again. To lose him … I can't bear the thought of it. I _can't_!

"The next few hours are critical." Mid-Nite is the one who tells me this. "If he were any other man, he'd have been dead already. Your husband is a very stubborn man, Mrs. Crock."

I laugh. "You have no idea, Doctor."

"We'll be outside if you need us, Mrs. Crock. Let us know when you're ready to see Artemis."

"Thank you, Doctor." Artemis has her boy. I know that he went to her side as soon as he left me. I will go to my daughter—but I will not go until I know if I go to her as a wife … or a widow.

The room is quiet except for the medical equipment that is keeping my husband alive.

I roll to my husband's side and take his hand.

It's a big hand. Callused and scarred. My own hands look almost tiny next to it. He's always had such strong hands …

"Lawrence …"

He has so many scars. There had been a time when I had known the story behind each one. I had known every battle he'd fought.

He has so many more scars now.

It kills me that I do not know the story behind so many of them.

Lawrence and I had been a legendary team. Sportsmaster and the Huntress. We had fought our way across three continents and battled—sometimes even _beaten_—scores of super heroes. We had moved as one—in bed, and on the battlefield.

It was only natural that we marry.

I did not love him then.

Does that surprise you?

Lawrence was madly, passionately in love with me. He was reckless and would stop at nothing to marry me. In the end, I had no choice.

I had to either marry him, or _kill_ him.

And I found that I did not wish to kill him.

` Our partnership was profitable … and exciting. Lawrence was the only man I had ever met who could keep up with me. He was … adequate.

I almost did not tell him when I was pregnant with Jade.

I knew that Lawrence would wish to keep the child, and I was not entirely certain that I wanted to be a mother. A husband was one thing—something that I could discard when—_if _—it became necessary, but a child was quite another thing altogether.

But in the end, I could not do it. I could not terminate my pregnancy. I could not deny my husband a child. I could not deny my child her life.

Jade was always more my child than Lawrence's.

Even as an infant, she would think before she acted. She would cry, throw a tantrum, and then watch us react. Sometimes I would even see her smile as she drove her father to distraction.

In that, she succeeded quite well.

Lawrence wanted us to go straight when Jade was born. He did not want her to know The Life. For her sake, he tried to change.

The fool.

A tiger can never be anything but a tiger.

Lawrence was meant to live on the razor's edge. To fight impossible battles. To bleed and fight and take what he wanted.

I knew he would fail before he began, but I also knew that I could not stop him from trying.

And that might have been when I realized I had started to love him.

I had always lived for myself. Every girl for herself, so to speak. My mother had taught me that lesson as a child, and I had never forgotten it.

But Lawrence … Lawrence taught me to think about someone else.

Even more so than my children.

And when he hit Jade, I was furious—furious at Lawrence, and even angrier at Jade because I _knew_ she had been testing her father, baiting him.

The bruise on Jade's face faded far sooner than the scar on Lawrence's soul ever did.

He never forgave himself, never trusted himself with her—with Artemis—ever again.

More than ten years later, and we all still feel the reverberations from that blow …

It was shortly after that, I lost my legs.

Well _lost_ is a bit of a misnomer.

I _sacrificed _them.

Lawrence and I were on a heist, fighting as though we did not have two daughters waiting for us to get home. Fighting as though we were still carefree and free.

I did not care.

I forgot I was a mother. I forgot I was a wife. I was the Huntress—wild, untamed, and free.

And then a policeman aimed a sniper rifle.

Not at me—at _Lawrence._

I did not have to shout a warning. I did not have to shove him out of the way. I could have stood by and let Lawrence pay the price.

I could have, but I didn't.

I loved my freedom, I loved The Life, but I loved Lawrence more.

And a life without him—The Life without him—was simply not worth living.

So I took the shot—the shot that would have killed him, crippled me.

And I regret _nothing._

He is Lawrence Crock. The Sportsmaster. A world renowned criminal. His own daughters think of him as nothing more than a common thug.

But he is my world.

And I love him.

And I always will.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not love him.

He is my father, but I do not love him. He is nothing to me. _Nothing._

I tell myself that several times as I watch him battle his way through the Dungeon Master's minions to rescue my sister. (Artemis I care for, but I am not entirely sure that I love her. I am not entirely sure I _can_ love anyone. That I had spent several hours and called in a number of favors to locate her is not a sign that I love her. Life would simply be too _dull_ without her.) To say the least, I was surprised to see that he had gotten here before me.

I follow him in—if he falls—_when _he falls—I will have that many less enemies to deal with. It does not occur to me he will make it through. His prime is past. (That he does not notice I am following him is proof of _that._) He is saving me effort—that is the only reason that I am following him.

I do not care if he lives or dies.

I do not know why he is doing this. To be sure, Artemis was always his _favorite._ Artemis is the one that he would make sure to check on when he returned home from a mission. I would lie there with half-closed eyes and watch him as he walked over to her bed before mine. Watch him look at her with the concern I had never seen him show _me._

It's not jealousy. It's _not_. I am simply stating a fact.

To the extent that he was capable of love, our father loved Artemis far more than me.

Our father trained us since we could barely walk. I know practically every move he can make. I can read volumes from the slightest twitch of an eye or twist of the lip.

He is _good_, mind you. Still.

I'm just _better._

To be honest, I'm not quite sure why I haven't killed him yet myself.

Mother would be unhappy with me, of course, but what is she to me? Artemis has told me that she will dance on his grave, but I know that she would cry—_will_ cry—when he does die. The silly girl has never known when to stop caring.

She even still loves _me._

At some point, I _will_ kill him, though. Someone should—and who deserves the right more than me?

Unless he gets himself killed before I finally decide to do the deed myself. Watching him tonight, he continues to surprise me.

As I said, he's still _good_, but I have never seen him fight like this before.

He is skilled. He knows how to protect himself. He knows how to be stealthy.

But he isn't trying.

He is fighting faster than I have ever seen him fight. There's almost a kind of poetry in the brutality of his actions—not grace, exactly—but a sort of _inevitability_. Heedless of the damage his taking—and he _is_ taking damage—he _destroys _them.

He should fall. He's hit enough that he should fall. There is only so much the strongest human body can bear, and he crosses that limit at least twice before he finds Artemis.

He should go down.

He doesn't.

I do not understand.

I have never seen him risk himself for anything—for _anyone._

I had thought I had seen him in anger before—but that was before I saw him confront the Dungeon Master.

I see red myself when I saw the way that pathetic fat little man is touching Artemis, but I do not have time to move forward before our father is upon him. His fury and rage make my own fade into insignificance.

For the first time in years, I am in _awe_ of my father.

Half-dead on his feet, he takes apart Dungeon Master's armor apart. Enhanced strength and speed, blasters, blades—none of it makes a difference.

Dungeon Master is down in less time than it takes me to tell of it.

I watch my father release my sister from her confinement. I watch him anxiously feel for her pulse and hug her to him when he finds it.

And I feel … _lost._

I _want_ to go to them. I want to hug Artemis myself. I want my father to look at me like he's looking at Artemis. I want to … and I hate myself for it.

I am Jade Crock. Cheshire of the League of Shadows. I am the world's best assassin. I do not _need_ anyone, anything. I do not _need_ my family.

I turn away. Artemis is safe now. Somehow, the old fool has done it…

And then I hear him scream…

_Daddy!_

I turn too late—how can _I_ be too late?—and I see the blade in his side—I see Dungeon Master fall again as he strikes.

He needs me. _She_ needs me. I have to go to them—

But I can't.

I can't let him see me like this. I can't let him see me _weak._

I _can't._

I follow them, silently promising myself that if _he_ dies I will take_ months_ to kill the Dungeon Master.

I'm crying.

I cannot remember the last time I cried, but I am crying now. I want to _help_—I do—but I _can't._

I _can't!_

I can't be _his_ daughter. I can't be _her_ sister. Not now. Not when I'm so _weak._

So I watch.

I watch him do his dead man's walk out of the warehouse. I watch his life fade with every pulse of his heart. I watch him stumble, but never fall—stumble, but never let go of her.

And when he's out—when _they're _out, I watch him fall.

And I fall to my knees.

And I do something that I never thought I would do—something that I would have killed anyone if they had ever suggested that I would ever do:

I pray for the life of my father.


	4. Chapter 4

Dreaming.

I had to be dreaming.

Whatever that little _wretch_ had drugged me with—that's the only reason that I'd ever imagine that my father would come to my rescue. I wonder who it actually was—Batman? Green Arrow? Who did I project my father's image onto?

Wally is at my bedside when I wake up. "Artemis!"

"Hey, you." I smile up at him. My mouth tastes like something crawled into it and died so I'm hoping he doesn't try to kiss me.

"I should have been there …" His eyes are red with tears and he's shaking like he does sometimes when he forgets to eat. I'm suddenly wondering if anyone had forced food on him since I'd been under—four hours without some kind of snack and he can be as shaky as a leaf.

"Wally, baby—we both know better than that. It wasn't you—it was _him._ Even you're not fast enough to be everywhere at once. It's over. Done with. You're not carrying the blame for this. I won't let you." I'm so tired. All I really want to do is go back to sleep. "We got him, right? Whoever it was that found me—they got him?"

"Yeah. About that—"

I open my eyes again. "Tell me he didn't get away."

"No. He's locked up. He's going to stay that way for a long long time."

I close my eyes again. "Who was it? Who saved me? Please tell me I didn't call Batman 'Daddy.' I'd never be able to live it down."

"It wasn't Batman."

"Green Arrow then?" Ollie would have come for me. It's not quite as bad if I called him "Daddy." Half the people who meet me think I'm his daughter anyway.

"No." Wally isn't looking at me. Oh my God. Just how badly did I embarrass myself? "Superman? _Red Tornado? _C'mon, Wal. Don't keep me in suspense!"

"Artemis, it was _him_."

"Him? Who do you—" I blink. "It was _him_? My father?"

"Yes."

"My _father _saved me?"

"Yes."

"My father." It doesn't process. It doesn't make sense. My father hates me. He's always hated me.

_A faint memory of cotton candy and strong arms that hold me like they are going to never let me go—_

"Where is he then? He probably just did it so he could throw it back in my face. Artemis the super hero needing to be bailed out by her daddy." I force myself to sit up. "He didn't even stick around to see how I'm doing, did he?"

"He's here."

Batman is standing in the doorway. His face is as unreadable as ever, but there's something about his voice—something I don't think I've ever heard before. "He's in ICU."

"Intensive care?" I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat. "How bad-?"

"You should be with your mother right now, Artemis. I've got a wheelchair for you." He pauses, seeing the look on my face. "You're fine, don't worry. The doctors just don't think you should be walking just yet."

"Let me help." Wally pulls back the sheets and helps me out of the bed and into the wheelchair.

I hate wheelchairs.

I've had nightmares about them ever since my mother got hurt—dreams about waking up trapped in one like she is—

"I'll push you." Batman offers.

"No!" I hug myself. "Wally. I want Wally."

Wally wraps his arms around me. "It's okay, baby. I'm here. I'm here. I'll take her there, Batman."

He looks at both of us and then nods his head slightly, his cape rippling with the motion, and steps aside.

Wally doesn't say anything as he wheels me along. It's scary at how good he's gotten at reading me. He knows when I need to talk—and when I don't.

This isn't—it can't—No.

He can't do this to me.

He can't make me hate him my entire life and then do _this_. He _can't_!

Mama is waiting for me at his bedside. " ."

"Mrs. Crock." His lips brush against my cheek. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

Mama is holding one of his hands.

He looks like _hell._

He's a big man. He always seemed like a giant to me. I can remember quaking in his shadow … his hands seemed as big as my head. I can remember him making me practice my katas until it felt like my arms were going to fall off. I can remember him making me loose arrows until I thought my fingers were nothing but blisters. I can remember him making me fight Jade barehanded—not accepting my excuses when she constantly beat me due to her size, her strength, her experience.

Strong. Intimidating. Remorseless. That was my father.

And now … now he's so pale, so _terribly _pale.

"It is good that you are here now, Artemis." Mama has been _crying? _I can't remember the last time I saw her cry … "At the end."

The end?

No.

It can't be the end.

"Why, Mama?"

"Your father is just a man, Artemis. He has not lived a gentle life. His strength is fading at last."

"No." I close my eyes. "Why? Why would he save me?"

"You know the answer, Artemis."

"No. No I don't. He hates me. He's always hated me."

Mama says nothing.

"He never loved me. _Never!"_

_ Cotton candy. My father is buying me cotton candy and he's laughing. He's laughing and he's holding me and I feel __**safe **_…

"Never …"

_No, not cotton candy. I'm drugged. I'm drugged and I'm cold and he's wrapping his shirt around me to keep me warm … and the shirt is sticky and hot with his blood …. But I'm __**safe **__because he's holding me …_

"He n-never-"

_He's telling me that I'm safe, that it's just a dream and that I'll be safe when I wake up …_

"Never …"

_And I can smell blood ... and his heartbeat … I'm snuggled against his chest and I can hear his heart beating slower and slower … weaker and weaker …_

No.

I don't want—I can't—

No.

He's so pale … and the only reason he's breathing at all is that damn machine they have him on …

"No."

I'm weak.

I'm still half-drugged and weak, but I force the wheelchair closer to his bed. "No."

I force myself out of the chair and onto the side of his bed. "You can't do this to me."

His eyes are closed. He doesn't know I'm here.

"You can't do this to me. You can't do this—you can't _save_ me and then die. Do you hear me, Daddy? You can't die and leave this unfinished! _You can't leave me now! __**You can't!"**_

I'm crying.

I lay my head down on his shoulder. "You can't leave me now …"

A hand lays itself on the back of my head. It's a large hand, but it's so terribly weak …

And so is his voice …

"Artemis …"


	5. Chapter 5

"I know what you are, Crock."

I open my eyes. I'm still weak as a kitten—talking to Artemis earlier had taken everything I had—but I'm awake.

And I'm looking at Green Arrow.

The Archer. The WannaBe Batman.

He's good with a bow—and Paula told me that he's been training Artemis. He's probably even better than Paula was—and that's saying something.

We've beaten the hell out of each other on several memorable occasions.

He's blocked the door.

His bow is slung on his back, and he's toying with an arrow—an arrow with a razor sharp head. "You think this changes anything, Crock? You think that all's forgiven? That you're going to walk out of here a free man just because you saved your daughter? Think again." An unpleasant smile crosses his face. "They're going to throw you in a hole so deep they'll have to Fed Ex sunlight to you."

I say nothing.

He's probably right, after all. I've done things—terrible things. I've robbed, assaulted—_killed_—I'm on the wanted list of at least a dozen different countries. There is no way I'm facing anything but a lifetime behind bars now—and that's if I'm lucky.

"Yeah, you saved Artemis. I get that. That doesn't make you a hero. Hell, if it hadn't been your daughter you probably would have been lining up to join in the fun…"

I growl at him and try to sit up. If I could get my hands on him …

I'm no angel, but if there's one thing I've _never_ done—will _never _do—it's assault a woman.

I'm a husband. I'm a father. There's no way I'd do _that._

"Yeah, I see the denial in your eyes." He's walking closer to me now—and I can smell the beer on him through my oxygen mask. His eyes are red—the Archer's been _crying?_ "There are things you won't do—great. But what about the things you've done? What about the widows and orphans you've made, Crock? How many men and women have you killed just because they got in hour way? How many kids have you killed?"

Kids.

I know what this is about now.

His boy.

"This changes _nothing,_ Crock. You're still a thug. You're still a murderer. You're scum. You deserve to die."

I look at him. I look at the arrow in his hands.

"It would be better for everyone if I finished you now, Crock. You've already ruined one daughter. The only thing you can do for Artemis now is compromise her. If you really cared about her, you'd _beg _me to use this arrow on you."

I look at him. There's a call button at my fingertips. If I'm lucky—if he didn't spot it—I could hit the button and call for help before he finishes me …

But I'm not entirely sure I should.

"My boy, Crock. You killed my son. You killed Roy."

I didn't.

Not that I wouldn't have if I had needed to, but I didn't. I had nothing to do with the Red Arrow project. I didn't take Speedy. I didn't program his clone. All I did was use the codes were given me. I don't know what happened to the boy or who took him.

"You killed my boy, and you _**replaced**_ him. And no one even knew about it for years. My boy's been gone for years and I didn't even know it!"

He scrapes my neck with the arrow.

"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that Arrow's an idiot. That Batman would have spotted the clone right away. He would have saved Robin—he would have _found_ Robin. That he'd be able to do _something._ That he would have been a better partner, a better friend—a better _father!_"

In spite of the beer, his hands are rock-steady. I'll give him that.

"You know how badly I want to kill you, Crock? How much you _deserve_ to die?"

I nod my head.

His eyes widen slightly.

"Artemis has a chance with Wa—with Kid Flash. She's got friends. She can have a good life. She can have everything Roy _should_ have had. But I've seen her—I know what she's thinking. She's going to throw it all away, Crock. She's not going to let them take you—she's going to try to help you escape.

"And then her life is _over._"

I glare at him again.

"You deserve to die, Crock. For Artemis. For Roy. There is nothing you can do that makes you worth a damn. I want to kill you. I _should_ kill you. And you know that you _deserve _it."

I reach for my oxygen mask.

"You going to scream for help, Crock? Are you going to _beg_ for your life? Let me hear you beg, Crock. Let me hear my boy's murderer _beg_ me to let him live!"

I take the mask off.

The arrow is razor sharp against my neck, near my artery. All he has to do is make the slightest move and I'll bleed like a pig—and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

"I'm sorry—sorry for your boy, Archer." I clear my throat. "I'm a dad too."

I don't tell him that I didn't kill him—I don't tell him that there's no way I'd let Artemis throw her life away for me. I don't tell him these things because there's no way he'd believe me."

The Archer looks at me for a moment, and then he pulls the arrow from my throat.

"Roy," he whispers.

He kicks the chair away from the door and opens it. He looks back at me.

"You know I'm right, Crock. Everyone would be better off if you were dead."

And he walks out.


	6. Chapter 6

I had not intended to go.

The Justice League took my father and sister away—away from danger, away from me—(which is generally the same thing)—and I thought there was nothing more I need do. Artemis would live. My father—

Live or die, I could do nothing for him now.

And yet … and yet here I am.

It didn't take that much effort to disguise myself. When you're an internationally wanted criminal, you become adept at making yourself look and act like someone else if you want to ever appear in public. When I was done, no one would have guessed that the meek looking pudgy girl (you'd be amazed at the sort of things you can conceal in padding) was anything but what she appeared to be.

There was a fair amount of security around my father's room, of course, but I was confident that I'd find a way in at some point. (If nothing else I'd just kidnap and replace a nurse). I wasn't sure why I wanted to see him again … (_liar)_ but I knew I could do it.

I watch Green Arrow enter his room and shut the door and sigh in exasperation. The Archer was probably going to make some kind of threat, warn my father to stay away from Artemis. He may as well have saved his breath—_Artemis_ herself would not stay away from our father. Not now.

(Because in the end, she is always _Daddy's Little Girl_. As I am not. As I have never been. As I have never wanted to be.)

(_Liar._)

I decide there's no point in waiting around. As dimwitted as police assigned to guard duty tend to be, my presence would surely not go unnoticed if I lingered that long. All things considered, it's best I go get a cup of coffee and wait for another opportunity.

Patience is an assassin's greatest asset.

In retrospect, that might not have been the best decision.

There's only one person in the small break room when I enter. A woman in a wheelchair, pensively drinking a cup of coffee and staring off into space.

_Mother._

I have not seen my mother since the night I ran away from home. I did not plan to see my mother now. I did not want to talk to my mother now …

I turn to leave.

"Hello, Jade."

I freeze. "Hello, Mother. How did you know it was me?"

"I'm your mother, dear. And I taught you."

"True."

Other mothers and daughters might play with dolls, even with makeup … my mother was teaching me the fine arts of camouflage and hand to hand combat. Even in a wheelchair, she was still a deadly opponent …

Not as good as _me_, of course, but then who is?

"Would you like some coffee, dear?"

"Please. Decaf." A jittery assassin is not a successful assassin.

Mother smiles at me. "Just like your father."

"I am _nothing _like him." I hiss the words. My entire life has been spent denying there was anything of my father in me. I was grace. I was skill. I was my mother's child, not _his_. _Never _his.

"I used to think that as well." She hands me my coffee. "Artemis—Artemis is more like her father than either of them admit. They both struggle to conceal their hearts from the world but it's there for all to see. But you and I …"

"We have no hearts."

That's the thing I always tell myself. My associates—not _friends_; I don't have _friends_—say much the same. They admire me for that almost as much as they do my fighting skills.

I am Jade. I am Cheshire. I need nothing. I need _no one._

"I used to think that as well." Mother takes a sip of her coffee. "I was wrong."

I blink my eyes in confusion. "Mother, have you been playing the role of concerned mother for so long that you have forgotten who you are?"

Artemis thinks that mother is as softhearted, as kind, as she. Mother never has to scold her—she simply gives her a _look_ and my sister is helpless to disobey.

It's not true, of course.

Mother does not love anyone. _Every girl for herself._ How many times had I heard her say that before it became my own mantra?

When I would act out, when I would tease my father, when I would make Artemis cry with frustration—that was who I am. That was why I did it. _Every girl for herself._

The reason that I _hurt _Artemis. The reason that I left her behind. The reason I could not love, could not trust.

_Every_ _girl for herself._

Artemis had to realize that the world was not a kind place. She could depend on no one but herself. Not Mother. Not Father. Not even me. The sooner she realized that, the safer she would be ….

It was for her own good, really.

There is _nothing _else.

Mother looks up at me. "I was wrong, Jade. I spent most of my life believing that love was an illusion, a game. Because of that belief, I almost missed out on the most important thing in my life: my family."

"Artemis, you mean."

"Artemis. Your father. You."

"Why, Mother?" The question is soft. "Why him? How could you love _him?_" _How can you love me? _ "Don't you know what he is?" _Don't you know what __**I **__am?_

"He is my husband. He is your father. You are my daughter. I love you."

"Love? What is love, Mother?" I growl in frustration and throw my coffee cup at her.

Mother _moves_ with a speed I would not have guessed she still possesses and the cup smashes into the wall behind her.

"I have been paid by mothers to kill their _sons._ I have made fortunes from killing a husband for a wife or a wife for a husband. Politicians. Athletes. Religious icons. I have seen depravity and degradation—violence and lust. I have seen _evil_. But I have never seen love. What is love, Mother?"

"Love is what brought you here tonight, Jade." She looks up at me with a face as expressionless as a china doll.

"I hate him." The words are hollow, empty. _Like me. Like I have always been._ _Does she really think I love anyone? _

"Do you? Then why come here? Why risk your freedom for this visit?"

"There will never be a better time to kill him."

"Here? With many of the world's greatest heroes within shouting distance? With a small army of police officers at the ready? This is the time you pick to kill your father?"

"I hate him."

"He believes that. He prays for that. The last thing he wanted was for you or your sister to love him. He thought it would keep you safe."

I gape at her. "He _made_ us hate him?"

"He tried."

"Then there is one thing my father was not a failure at." I open the door. "I _hate_ him."

There are interns, nurses, doctors—rushing through the hallways. They are shouting.

And their words freeze my blood.

"Move it, people! Crock is _**dying!**__"_


	7. Chapter 7

I'm afraid.

I can't help it. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that this is some kind of horrible, sick _joke_ that he's playing on me. I'm afraid that he's going to laugh at me and call me a sucker for believing that he did care.

I'm _afraid_ to believe my father loves me.

I've spent _years _learning that I couldn't trust him. _Years_ learning that my father wasn't like other fathers. That he was a stone-cold killer who valued nothing but himself. I've spent most of my life _trying_ to hate him.

But he's my father.

He's my _Daddy_.

Wally has his own issues with his parents. Even when he learned who I really was, who my parents were, he didn't pry. He didn't ask me anything that I didn't want to give.

I'm scared of Wally, too.

I'm scared that this feeling is too strong. I'm afraid that I'm going to get used to having Wally in my life. I'm going to start counting on him. I'm going to start _needing_ him …

Oh hell. I _already_ need him.

He stays with me when I go back to my room to sleep off the rest of the drugs. He's there when I wake up—eating what looks like two vending machines' worth of snacks, but he's here.

What scares me is that I _knew_ he would be.

"Hey you."

"Hi, Artemis. How are you feeling?"

Damn those eyes of his eyes. I want to get lost in them and forget everything.

"Tired, but the good non-drugged kind of tired."

"Glad to hear it. You about ready to blow this Popsicle joint?"

"More than ready." I stretch—and I _know_ that Wally's watching so I make it last a little longer than I had to. "Wally?"

"Yeah?" He sounds a little dazed and I can't help smirking.

"My—Sportsmaster. How is he?"

"He was fine, last I heard. Your mother came to check on you while you slept and said to tell you that he's weak but that they're cautiously optimistic." He pauses. "I think he's going to be okay."

I relax a little. Wally wouldn't say it if he didn't think it was true. That honesty of his is one of the things I lo—_like! Like!—_ about him. "After they check me out, can we go see him?"

"Of course."

I smile wryly. "Well, it's not exactly the _first_ time you met my father…"

Wally smiles at me. "Well this time we won't be trying to beat each other up."

A half hour later, I'm given the okay to get back into civilian clothes and Wally and I are heading to my father's room.

We're holding hands.

I'm trying not to get used to that.

Young Justice is the first time I belonged. The first time that I felt like I had a place for me. The first time I had _friends_.

Getting used to having friends … getting used to having a _boyfriend_ … is something I never thought I'd have to worry about.

Once you let someone into your heart, how do you live with the possibility you might lose them?

The Guard nods at us when we walk to the door. "Go on in, kids. You've already been cleared."

"Batman," Wally says by way of explanation.

I nod and swallow as I open the door. "Hi, Daddy …"

And I scream.

"Artemis! What?" Wally shoves his way past me.

My father is gasping on the bed. His IVs have been torn out. The machinery that's supposed to monitor his condition has been disconnected.

And the room is quiet except for my father's labored breathing.

"Daddy!"

I can't move.

I know CPR. I know first aid. I should be able to do something. I should be moving.

But I can't.

All I can do is stand there and scream "Daddy!"

Wally saves me. He saves my father.

He's a blur as he reconnects the equipment, puts the oxygen mask on my father, yanks the door open and screams for a doctor.

Medical staff rushes in and begin working on my father.

Wally pulls me back. "C'mon, Artemis. We have to give them room to work."

"Move it, people! Crock is dying!"

I'm shaking. I'm crying. I'm holding onto Wally because he's the only thing keeping me on my feet.

_Daddy!_

Suddenly, my mother is there. Some chubby girl that I don't know is pushing him towards Daddy's room.

"What happened?" My mother's voice is harsh, like iron. I can't remember ever hearing her sound like that. There is a cold fury in her eyes.

My mother is suddenly a stranger to me.

"He—" I try to talk. I can't.

"Artemis. What. Happened. To. Your. Father?" Mother's hands are twitching like she wants to hit me. "_What happened to my husband?"_

Wally saves me again.

"Someone sabotaged the equipment. He was taken off all life support and the alarms shut off. A damn good job of it."

Mother spits a curse. "Who? Who was the last one to see my husband?"

The pudgy girl with her speaks then. "Arrow …"

_Olllie?_

No. Not Ollie. He wouldn't do that to my father. He wouldn't do that to _me._

And the voice … I _know _that voice.

I look at the girl. "_Jade …?"_

The girl smiles at me. "Hello, little sister."

"Um, girls? I hate to break up this reunion, but where's your mother going?"

Mother is wheeling herself down the hallway. "Archer! Where are you, you coward?"

Green Arrow is standing near a vending machine. He's holding a cup of coffee and turns at my mother's words. He opens his mouth to say something—

And then my mother is on him.

She _leaps_ out of her chair and knocks Ollie down to the floor. Her fists are a blur as she punches him in the face. Again and again.

"My husband! You tried to kill my husband on his sick bed!"

Ollie tries to raise his hands up to defend himself, but my mother slams his head to the floor with stunning force. "Everything you love, Archer! Everything you treasure. Your family. Your friends. Your city. If my Lawrence dies I will turn your world to _**ash**_**!** Do you hear me, Archer? I will make you _**pray**_for death!"

"Let him go, Paula. Don't make me force you to stop."

The Batman is there as though he materialized out of the shadows. "Don't make me have to say it again, Paula."

Mother lets Ollie's head fall to the floor and drags herself back to her wheelchair.

I go to help her, but she waves me off.

"He tried to kill Lawrence."

"I didn't." Ollie coughs and spits out a tooth. "I won't deny that I went in to kill him, but he was fine when I left."

I'm shaking again. "No …"

"I'm not lying, Huntress." Ollie turns to look at me. "Artemis, listen. I _promise_ I'm not lying. I didn't hurt your father. God knows I wanted to, but I didn't."

"Liar!" Mother spits out.

"He's not lying, Paula. Green Arrow didn't try to kill your husband." Batman's face is as unreadable as ever, but his voice is gentle. "No one tried to kill Lawrence Crock. This wasn't an attempted murder.

"It was a failed suicide."


	8. Chapter 8

It doesn't surprise me at all that Crock lives. He's been a fighter all his life. His mind—his heart—may decide to give up, but his soul _never_ will.

I admire that.

I'm the only one in the room when he wakes up. It took some work—some skillful deflecting of the doctors, a suggestion here or there that Artemis, her mother, and Jade (who I'm letting think has fooled me with her disguise) should talk—and an educated guess on my part when Crock would come to. _Of course_ I was right.

I am the goddamned Batman after all.

(And Dick thinks I have no sense of humor.)

Crock groans softly as he opens his eyes and looks at me. "Damn. There is a hell after all."

"That was a damn fool thing you did, Crock."

He can't shrug (we've bound his hands) but he makes a good try. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Why, Crock? You hate the thought of prison _that_ much?" As I said, Crock's always been a fighter. I can't imagine him giving up.

Crock says nothing for a moment. He looks away. "The Archer was right."

"Right?" I know Ollie. I know what he probably said.

"Artemis is better off if I'm gone."

"You think so?" There's a trace of anger in my voice. I'm surprised at my own reaction. "You think she's better off without her father?"

"Look at me, Bats. You know who I am. You know _what_ I am. It would have been better for everyone if I hadn't made it. I got nothing to give them."

I stare at him, and my fists clench. "No child should ever have to deal with a parent's death from anything other than natural causes."

_A gunshot. Sometimes I still wake up to the sound of that gunshot …_

"Yeah, well, no kid should ever have to deal with me as a father either."

"You saved her."

"Yeah. This time." Crock sighs. "I got nothing, Bats. I am nothing good for her—for Jade, for Paula."

"You're her father, Crock." I want to grab him and shake him. I want to beat the hell out of him. Is he _that_ blind? "She _needs_ you!"

"For _what?_"

"To be _there! _To be alive! To _love_ her!"

"To let her love you."

"Paula …"

She's in the door looking at us—at Crock.

"Perhaps I should go—"

Paula ignores me. Crock ignores me.

"I let you have your way in this, Lawrence. I let you push our daughters away. I let you hide your heart from them because you believed it was the right thing to do. No more."

"Paula—"

"No more, Lawrence! I am _done_ with missing my husband! I am _done _with my children being estranged from their father! I will _not_ permit it! No more! We _will_ be a family, Lawrence! You _will_ be my husband! You _will_ be their father!"

"Paula, it's too late—"

"It's never too late, Daddy."

"Artemis…"

She's standing in the doorway, hugging herself, and she's doing her best not to cry. "Batman's right. You're my father. You'll always be my father. You don't have to be perfect—you just have to be _here._"

"I ain't a good man, Artemis. I've done terrible things. You know that."

"I know." Artemis walks over to him. "But you can do _better._"

I see Jade watching outside the room, and I walk outside the door.

"You should be there, Jade."

She jumps, but then shrugs as she realizes I could have taken her down anytime I wanted. "I don't belong with them. I never did."

"Says who?"

"Mother is devoted to Artemis. Father was willing to die for her—she's so easy to love, so easy to like. She's never had to try to earn _anyone's _love. It just comes naturally to her. That isn't me. It's never been me. That's why I'm alone."

"They love you. _He_ loves you."

"Not as much as he loves her."

"He never forgave himself."

"What?"

"He hit you. He never forgave himself for it. He thinks you never forgave him for it."

"Mother said he wanted us to hate him." I notice she doesn't say whether or not she's forgiven him.

"He did." I look over at the room. Paula and Artemis are hugging Crock.

And Jade is watching.

"You think they don't love you. You think they don't want you. You're afraid."

"I fear nothing, Batman. Not even you."

"Everyone fears something." Even me. "You're so afraid of being alone that you _choose _to be."

"My father is a criminal, a common thug. The only reason my mother isn't rotting in jail is because the law took pity on her. My sister …" She trails off.

"Your sister loves you. Your parents love you. And you love them—you just don't want them to know it. You're his daughter all right."

"I am nothing like him."

"Aren't you? Your father spent most of your life running away from the thing he wanted more than anything else—his family. You're doing the same thing. Go to them."

"I won't." A whisper. "I can't. It's too late."

"That's what he said." My head says I should put this girl away now while she's vulnerable. She has the potential to be so much deadlier than her mother ever was—than her father ever was. She's dangerous.

But she's still little more than a child.

"Jade, you nearly lost him. This may be the only chance you have. Are you going to waste it?"

She looks at me for a moment, and then turns and starts to walk away …

And then she pivots and runs into her father's hospital room.

I double check to make sure there's no one around, no camera to record it. And then I do the thing that Clark says I never do.

I _smile._


End file.
